Poetry Blogs (relative)
There’s a floor called race and a home called blood,
it can be what forms you.
It can be what clothes you, what warms you as it flows through your body,
a rich honey providing brotherhood, relation, family and love -
bonds of pride which cartwheel through your body.
I have a mystery and in my father lies the clues.
I had droplets of speciality, uniqueness, distinction, excitement...
Saturday 29th November 2014 10:59 pm